By the Sounding Sea
by Lassarina Aoibhell
Summary: [Final Fantasy VI] Celes tries to come to terms with the loss of someone dear. [LeoxCeles, LockexCeles]


She woke suddenly, her heart pounding and a scream lodged in her throat. Beside her, Locke twitched and muttered in his sleep. After the first dozen times, he'd grown used to her waking in the middle of the night, and no longer went from sleep to full battle-readiness with weapon in hand before his eyes were open.

She'd thought the reaction strange at first--he was no soldier, and she'd never seen anyone else with that trait—but she supposed that a life lived on the wrong side of the law would instill the same degree of alertness as special-forces troops.

Tonight he didn't even turn toward her. She swallowed hard and crept out of their bed as silently as she could. The boards beneath her feet were pleasantly cool compared to the sticky heat of their bedroom. She noticed temperatures so much more now; the winter after they destroyed Kefka had been a shock, accustomed as she was to never noticing temperature. She wasn't sure she'd ever felt cold before that, regardless of her soldiers' comments about ice in her veins.

She focused on the trivial details as she made her way out of the bedroom on silent bare feet and into the living room. She could hear the endless song of crickets and cicadas outside, but no indication of other humans moving around. Not that she expected it at four hundred hours.

Every gesture was controlled, ritualized, as she went through the motions of adding coal to the fire and heating water. She brewed a cup of strong tea, added sugar but no cream, and carried it with her to the sofa in the living room. She curled up in the corner of the sofa, body compressed to take up as little space as possible. She sipped the tea, and set it on the table with exquisite care.

Her hands clenched into fists and, unbidden, crossed protectively over her chest. She hunched forward, abandoning a soldier's careful posture, and a faint keening sound escaped her throat.

Two years ago today, Kefka had struck General Leo down in Thamasa.

Her eyes were stinging, and her breathing had grown ragged. She tried to calm herself, tried to force herself back into the discipline that had been her constant companion and guide since she was old enough to comprehend.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked to clear them, and froze when she saw the figure standing before her. She could almost see through him. Her eyes went over him, searching for the death-wounds she had personally washed as they prepared him for burial. He was clad in his dress uniform, with his crystal sword by his side.

She must be hallucinating. The long weeks of too little sleep were catching up to her. She thought briefly of drugging herself back to sleep.

He sat next to her, his shoulder not quite touching hers, and folded his hands in his lap. She turned to face him. "Leo?" she whispered, hating the way her voice cracked.

He smiled at her, and it was a warmer smile than she remembered. "You look like you haven't slept in days," he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. "I'm...not sleeping well." It irked her less to admit weakness to him; he was the one who had always made sure her injuries were treated when she would have ignored them, who had pulled her off the training field when she tried to push herself too hard. He had been the one to come to her quarters after Maranda and comfort her without words, despite her sharp tone and barbed comments.

He had been the one it hurt to leave, when she snuck out of Vector just before dawn.

"Why do you blame yourself?" There was no judgment in his tone, simply a wealth of understanding. That had always been his trick to getting the confidence of his troops: he cared.

"I was not there to stop him," she said, and brushed impatiently at tears that insisted on sliding down her face.

"I did not ask you to," he said. "It was not your task to defend me. You did as I asked. If anyone bears responsibility, it is Kefka." He studied her intently.

"I dream of it," she said in a low voice. "I cannot forgive him."

"You killed him." Again, he did not judge. This was how he had soothed her after the slaughter in Maranda, with gentle statements of fact and the patience to draw her into speaking her thoughts.

"It wasn't _enough,"_ she hissed. "He took so many lives. He took _your_ life. And I failed you."

"You did not fail me." For the first time, she heard impatience in his tone. His hand rose to brush her cheek, and the chill ran down her spine and left her shivering, cold in a way she'd never felt even when sealed within a Blizzaga spell. She leaned toward him, her hands reaching for his shoulders, and her fingers closed on freezing, empty air.

He leaned into her, and she was cold, so cold, but she could not let go of him. She felt the more intense icy chill of his arms coming around her, and it seemed he was almost solid against her.

"I would have loved you, had things turned out otherwise," he said quietly in her ear, and she could not hold back a sob. His hand stroked her back gently. Tears fell from her cheeks and right through him to make dark spots on the sofa covering.

"I love you," she whispered.

"You loved me," he corrected, with a gentle emphasis on the past tense. "I don't think you would be here if you didn't love him."

She pulled back and stared at him. "I..."

"Why else did you chase across half the world for him?"

She was silent. His fingertip caressed her cheek, and she felt the tears freeze on her skin. "If I do not blame you, why blame yourself?" he asked, and she shivered at the chill of his lips against her ear.

She thought of her nightmares, the ones that woke her every night, reliving Kefka's strike over and over again. "I never told you," she said softly.

"You didn't have to tell me, just as I did not have to tell you."

She drew a slow, shuddering breath. "If you do not blame me, why...why are you still here?"

"To make you realize that I do not," he said.

She looked at him, and his outline was less clear; she could see the art on the wall through his shape. "Leo?"

The feel of his lips on hers was little more than a spectral shiver as he faded away.

She left her tepid tea on the table and walked slowly to the bedroom. Locke stirred when she slid into bed beside him, and snuggled close to her.

"I love you," she whispered. He murmured in his sleep.

For the first time in over a year, she slept without dreaming.


End file.
